Transparent Fluorescent
by syndomatic
Summary: She has to look effortless in her glory, after all. — Miho


_1. hook_

She falls in love with his eyes on the first day of middle school.

The springtime morning is still fresh and clear even in the city; the air is tinted a crisp pink outside the window, full of fluttering cherry blossoms and freshman anxiety. The classroom is full of loud noises, unfamiliar faces blurring together, and Miho has to trust her survival instincts to not break down and fail her when the homeroom teacher instructs her to come up in front of the whiteboard and introduce herself.

She gets up, quietly stepping away from her seat and suddenly, she feels like she's in first grade all over again — right down to her fidgeting fingers, to the breath she exhales when she pulls her back straight so that she doesn't slouch and risk making a bad impression. She blinks when she reaches the whiteboard, building up resolve, remembering her mother's off-hand cautionary tales about pretense, and how to maintain it. Miho opens her mouth at the same time her eyes settle on the middle of the classroom, staring flatly at her classmates' vaguely interested expressions. She's almost offended at their lack of interest, but she swallows back the emotion quickly.

" … Tanimura Miho," she says, with surprising ease, mustering up the brightest of her smiles to disguise the wave of relief threatening to wash over her. Now that she's in her element, everything after this is a rehearsed, calculated walk in the park. " … I hope this year will be a good one for all of us," she finishes, her voice raised and lifted like the mood in the room, congratulating herself as she makes her graceful way back to her seat. Her mother would be proud.

The next few introductions go by swiftly, a mix of nervous voices and flickering eyes — Miho has to try her best to remember their names and faces because this classroom is almost twice as big as the ones she'd been used to being in for six long years back in elementary school.

There is one person who manages to impress her, though.

The boy is tall, with sharp hair and an even steadiness in his footsteps. His tone of voice is level and steely as he begins his introduction, sounding he's reading off a script. He's not smiling. Miho pauses, resting her hands idly over the smooth wood desk, and tells herself she's only looking at the boy because he seems like an interesting person. His eyes are dark brown, gaze sharper than his voice, narrowed just slightly at the classroom like he wants to have an edge over it.

Miho's lips press together as he drones on about himself, taking in every word and storing them at the back of her mind, carefully, like she's copying numbers from a whiteboard; it's then that she realizes that she's never really going to stop looking at him no matter how much she tries not to.

* * *

><p><em>2. blurred<em>

She envies and admires Miiko at the same time — there's a thin, unsteady line that separates one emotion from the other, and sometimes Miho isn't sure where the former ended and the latter began; where exactly she'd decided to really stop liking the other girl for who she is and start treating her as merely an equal, an unwitting rival for a boy's affection.

She doesn't think she wants to be sure, anyway; Yamada Miiko is innocence and oblivion and sweetness all in one, and the thing with her is that she's infectious — one chime of laughter from her becomes a catalyst for a chain reaction that results in everyone to break out in chuckles and guffaws as well, one after another, growing louder and louder until the whole room is filled with noise.

And, well, Miho can't help but envy the poor girl for that, too — along with her lightheartedness and casual honesty and being the only girl in the whole world who could boast being able to trigger a reaction from Tappei without even trying. Because the thing with her is that she's not Miiko, and because that's what she's good at: denial and envy and compulsively wanting.

Sometimes, Miho thinks about confronting her and telling her all that; she privately relishes the idea before her heart inevitably caves in defeat and she decides against it. And the thing with Miiko is that she's not someone she could hate, not easily — the girl still greets her in the morning with a smile and a wave of her hand, all sincerity and warmth. And whenever Miho turns to look at her and smile back, off-hand, she feels something sting underneath her skin — feels a pang of sadness and guilt for pretending to loathe her, for jumping back-and-forth between the invisible line separating envy and admiration.

* * *

><p><em>3. enthralled<em>

The thing she's best at has always been grasping attention, and she knows it, too; Miho practices her greetings and smiles in front of the mirror, all radiance and grace, rehearsing her lines over and over again until everything seems to come smooth and easy.

Sometimes, though, she tries harder.

Sometimes she poises up her face and stands just a little bit straighter, pushes her painted smile wide until it becomes a beam, braid her hair down and wrap it in delicate ribbons, wearing soft colors that distracts away the sour frustration smeared across her eyes. And Miho tries and tries, until perfection becomes an impulse, until it becomes a habit, because she can't really afford to do anything else.

She doesn't tell anyone about it, though — at the end of the day, she has to look effortless in her glory, and so she allows rumors to fly abound and revels in the adoring looks she receives from others.

But even then, even after all of that, she is still not sure if it's enough, if it will ever be enough — because Tappei still flinches away whenever she moves closer to hold his arm, and Miiko is still the only girl he allows himself to be truly honest around. Miho rejects countless love letters and replies to every praise with a flippant smile, and she thinks — isn't all of this supposed to mean something? Can't he at least acknowledge her for her efforts? Or is Tappei as hopeless as Miiko is? Well, then, if he's hopeless, then so is she. If only out of spite.

"I'm never going to give up on you," she tells him on the park that day. Her face is pink all over and her fists are clenched tight, but her voice is steady and loud, cutting and sharp against the cool air. Miho praises herself for not flinching or breaking down altogether right then and there; on her way back home, she swallows everything back inside except for a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

* * *

><p><em>4. need<em>

"You should just give up on him," says Yakko one day, during lunch. Her voice sounds neither disparaging nor mocking, merely an observation, but Miho can't help but to take offense.

"What? No way," she replies, almost too quickly, and then swallows a mouthful of rice like she's making a point. The cafeteria is crowded at this hour, and uncomfortably loud; Miho kicks her legs underneath the table and tries her best not to cave in under Yakko's increasingly scrutinizing glare.

"Why not? You've barely made any progress with him in the past few months," the other girl points out, poising her chopsticks in accentuation. Yakko lacks in tactfulness where she excels in perception, but this time, she lets the sentence hang, looking as though she'd just held back a few words. "I think it's about time you move on."

Miho waits until she's finished with her rice before she replies, all proper-like, remembering manners and her mother's vague words. "No," she says, with stubborn finality. "I'd never allow myself to, anyway," and then she turns to Yakko, brandishing a flimsy smile. "You know me."

"I guess so." Yakko nods in silent agreement. "Still, Tappei's a pretty clueless guy. I don't want you to keep beating yourself up like this, you know?"

"Yeah, I get it," she says in a laugh, understanding, though she really wishes she didn't.

"Besides, a lot of people fancy you! Why do you keep focusing yourself on just one person, anyway?"

"That's what you don't understand, Yakko," she replies huffily, but chooses not to elaborate further. She takes a bite of an egg-roll and chews thoughtfully on it before she swallows.

Yakko frowns slightly. "You'll never going to let Miiko win, are you?"

"Nope," Miho says, breaking in a smile. "Never."

Yakko allows herself a chuckle. "Be careful. She's a tough competitor."

She lets her smile falter, for a split second; for once, she doesn't try to disguise it with a laugh, but she still spares a sad glance at her skirt. "I know."

* * *

><p><em>5. river<em>

Her hometown is a tiny, faraway town in the middle of nowhere. After eight years of separation, Miho can no longer recall its name, or pinpoint the smudge of a spot it leaves on the map of the country, faded and minute and obscure — almost as if it's there just for the sake of not being forgotten.

Miho tries to, but where she forgets the big picture, the details fail to leave her, sticking onto the back of her head and refusing to let go. She remembers the clear fresh mornings and the smell of spring and the trickling, deep-blue river that stretches from one side of the town to another — all pleasantries and familiarity within the limited confines of what she'd once defined as home. She remembers a small classroom and a smaller group of friends, laughter and idle chat about schoolwork and boys distant dreams, all in a tiny circle on the cool floor of her modest living room.

Miho remembers, and she remembers suffocation, the feeling of being held down, the way the shady treetops and lush hills pass by her in a blur behind the foggy glass window as she takes the quiet train all the way to the big city, her emotions threatening to swell up too much for her chest to contain. Her hometown had only ever been static, still, placid, nothing like the big city — Miho smiles the whole trip, humming a low tune under her breath, even as she feels the sadness prickle beneath her skin, the strange compulsion to cry herself empty just because she can.

And she likes the city, she really does — and it's just silly, really, for her to think so much about a lonely old town she doesn't even know the name of anymore. It doesn't surprise her, though. She'd always been such a sentimental person.

* * *

><p><strong>an: **them being in middle school is just a small change i made because in light of the sharp rise in romantic stories in the later volumes i think it's just weird for a bunch of 11-year-olds to actually start ruminating over their feelings for the opposite sex… idk. maybe i'll change it later.

also: yup i totally love miho way too much for my own good. haha. sorry.


End file.
